Memories Part II.

Part II

          “Get out,” I yelled into the open door. “Get out of those racks and get the fuck out of this building now!” My voice was not the only one yelling in the night. Others were doing the same, yelling sleeping soldiers awake in the middle of the night as mortar rounds landed all around our compound.

          “Forget your pants soldier. If you die in here you wont need them anyway.” I bellowed grabbing a young male soldier by the neck and half throwing him out the door.

          This was a typical night here in the desert. We beat the shit out of them during the day, and they return the favor by shelling the hell out of us during the night.

          I wonder what General Patton would think of all this craziness. He’d say “I don’t like dying for the same land twice.” So why are we still doing this, because Patton died in Europe after World War II and hasn’t been back since.

          It’s 0400 and the shelling has stopped. Soldiers in boxers and bras are standing watch with weapons readied out side makeshift sleeping quarters. One lucky round could take out a dozen or more, so those are the first places we clear in a raid. Most soldiers can sleep straight through a shelling, once you’ve been over here long enough you can sleep though anything, that’s if you can sleep at all through the fright and stress. I sleep a whopping two hours a night, if I’m lucky.
*** *** *** *** *** ***

          “Sergeant First Class?” the voice of Major Poole came from my side.

          “Sir?” I responded lighting a cigarette.

          “Assemble a ten man squad and have them in my tent in twenty.”

          “Roger. Who’s the lead?”

          “Montoya.”

         “You sure that’s wise?” I questioned, the major had come to trust my instinct, and therefore he granted me a bit of leeway in my question as to the placing of Montoya. Sergeant Montoya was new, but worse he wasn’t bright and he was new to the region.

          “He’s due Collins.” Came the Majors stern response.

          “Roger Sir, Montoya and ten in twenty.”

          I hand picked the ten soldiers to accompany Montoya on the early morning patrol. It was 1800 hours before we learned of their fate.
*** *** *** *** *** ***


          The war has been on for over a year, this is my second deployment here. I’m starting to get used to the heat, the people. I’m starting to learn the language.

          “Sergeant Thomas?” a young trooper called out to me.

          “Roger.”

          “Sergeant First Class Thomas?” he repeated.

          “Are you fucking deaf soldier? I said roger, or did I speak a different language to you. Can’t you see that I’m sleeping? What the fuck do you want?”

          The soldier gave a perplexed look. I was not sleeping. I was in fact standing straight up and looking north, toward the enemy, sunglasses hiding my blood red eyes swollen with sun and sand burns.

          “Private Michaels, Sergeant. I’m your replacement.” He said to me.

          “Are you even old enough for training pants soldier? Who’s kid are you and how the fuck did you come to be in my part of this sandbox?” I drilled at him, my hands on my hips. It was 2200 hours, the day had been long, and the night before had been longer. We had lost three of my most experienced soldiers on an early morning patrol. I guess this was commands idea of a three for one deal three dead, for one green and soon to be dead

          “I’m nineteen Sergeant.”

          “Nineteen? That’s sweet! Does your mother know where you are?”

          “Yes Sergeant she does.”

          “Does you’re mother hate you, Michaels?”

          “No Sarg, she loves me very much.”

          “Then why in the name of God are you standing in front of me instead of being at home in the world in college eating a hot dinner with your fucking mother?”

          “I love my county Sergeant!” he yelled. “Wanted to serve my country, give back to my nation.” The young soldier stood at attention in front of me looking quite please with himself.

          “FUCK-N-A, another god-damn patriot. Staff Sergeant Kindell in the tent,” I said pointing behind me. “Find her and for God-sakes you’re not in boot anymore, stop fucking yelling. The fucking enemy ten clicks away can shell us on command by the sound of your voice. Dismissed!” I resumed my gaze north, ignoring the new private.

          I had come to hate receiving new replacements. Men and women, rather boys and girls their first time away from home, their life expectancy two months. My hand cramped from the letters I wrote to parents and spouses I did not know informing them about their soldier’s death.